Her Soul Made of Stars
by Avanblerk
Summary: Lys was born with the ability to see the souls of the souls of the living, allowing her to read their emotions, relive their memories and even manipulate them to her will, but after being caught in a unnatural storm she finds she can see the souls of the dead and it is slowly driving her to madness. Determined to save her sanity she will travel the lands in search of a cure.
1. Chapter 1: Song Of Stranger Souls

The ability to soul read was a rare, yet not unheard of talent in the world of Eora. As one may be born able to sing as the songbirds, or calculate unfathomable numbers in mere moments, Lys was able to decipher a person's inner essence. To her, the soul of a living being manifested as a spectral aura, swirling with iridescent hues that glittered like the dust of stars. Some were brighter, others wavering, but each unique. By reading a person's essence Lys could see the crystallised consciousness, memories and personality of the owner, and even deeper; the spirits of the past lives lived by the soul. Every soul was a story, waiting for Lys to only pay it the mind. Ordinarily, Lys cherished any opportunity to use her gifts; she found delving into unsuspecting souls of those nearby thrilling, as if peering into a stranger's window, yet now she only found it vexing. The other travellers were unaware of how their souls pressed in on her, vying for attention with shifting hues, and the journey through Drywood had seen her in their company with no relief of solidarity. She'd begun to feel the strain weigh behind her almond eyes and she pinched the bridge of her nose with silent frustration as the wagon shuddered over rocky terrain. Suld, an Orlan who'd set out from the grand empire of Aedyr alongside Lys, recognises her friend's pain. As an Orlan, Suld's stood at the height of a human child. Ashen fur, streaked with shades of earthen red, covered the whole of her body, even extending over her face and nose. Her ears were that of a doe, though wilder and hairier. The longer tufts of hair around her face were braided with beads of adra gemstone and the carved teeth of her finer kills. Her battle-weary armour had long lost its gleam, not unlike the two hatchets affixed to her belt, the unvarnished handles of which were stained with the brownish hue of old blood. Her golden, feline-like eyes flashed wildly as she looked up at Lys.

"Want me to kill them all?" She hissed in a low tone, breaking the silence within the wagon and earning her the hateful glare of a handful of travellers; a reaction Suld had undoubtedly been fishing for.

"You threatening us, feral?" A gruff-looking man spat. In turn, Suld lean forward, flashing her jagged teeth.

" _This_ is a threat, furless; I'll rip your twig off and shove it up your ass if you call me feral again."

A woman gasped, causing Suld to cackle. The man's aura bristled with hot anger and his hand flew to his dagger as he stood up, stooped slightly by the low ceiling of the rocking wagon. Suld raised her brow, unimpressed by the man's posturing. Lys sighed and pulled her own spirit forward, intertwining with the man's and seeping tendrils into his mind.

"Sit down," she said in a soft, melodious tone, yet tinged with an ominous severity. Without hesitation the man obeyed, a slave to her command. Satisfied, Lys released his mind, leaving him faint-hearted and confused. The others turned their gaze upon her in silent alarm. She briefly saw herself through their eyes; a frail, sickly looking elf with sharp and boney features and dour expression. Her pale skin was stretched thin as if she'd skipped meals and her raven hair hung limply over her shoulders, pooling into the hood of her cloak. Her roughspun tunic and worn breaches were in need of mending, though her weapons looked to be in good repair. Two daggers sat on her left hip, sheathe affixed to her belt. On the other side was a quiver full of ammunition for the unstrung bow propped against her leather pack by her feet. Initially, the other

travellers had barely paid her heed, but now most found her creepy, a sort of witch with sinister smile and mysterious intentions. She observed their animosity and fear with dispassion. Such reactions were not unfamiliar to neither Suld or Lys. Gods willing, they would arrive at their designation tomorrow without Suld inciting a commotion. The promise of riches and holdings awaited them in Gildedvale along side the welcome prospect of new beginnings.


	2. Chapter 2: Warm Glow of the Bonfire

A man's shout pierced the cool night, calling the caravan to halt. On his command the wagons rolled to a stop, ceasing the dull cacophony of squeaking wheels and creaking wood. Lys recognised the voice as belonging to the leader and master of the caravan convoy; Odema. He was the one in charge of leading Lys and the travellers safely through the wilderness, alongside his helpers; Calisca and Sparfel. While Lys had grown to respect Odema's gruff, plain-speaking, she liked his help much less. Calisca saw Lys' thin limbs and judged her to be weak and pathetic, like a sickly mutt, while Sparfel cared more for his nightly ale than any of the travellers he guided. Odema yelled again, calling for Sparfel. Lys felt the wagon sway as Sparfel dismounted from the drivers seat. Like the other travellers, Lys' curiosity' was piqued. In one smooth movement she unlatched the wagon's door and jumped onto the dirt road. The deepening night had the chill of early spring and the scent of pine sap and soil hung in the damp air. The Drywood trees towered over the lonely road and the shrouded moon shone no light. Lys looked up the path, seeing each of the five wagons dotted with the warm glow of a lantern. At the fore front was Odema, Calisca and Sparfel, the light of Odema's lantern falling over the trunk of an enormous fallen tree. Lys focused her mind but found their thoughts muffled by the distance. After a short time a decision was reached and they dispersed, returning to their wagons. Sparfel drew near, his soul growing clearer with each step. When he noticed Lys standing in the dark, silent and unmoving, he scowled.

"What are you staring at?" He hissed, brushing past her as he mounted the wagon and took the reins. Lys didn't reply but merely stared wordlessly as she studied his thoughts. He gritted his teeth.

"You gonna get back in or are you walking?" He snapped, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder. Lys' lips curled and she inclined her head as a polite gesture before returning to the wagon. Suld, who had been picking at her claw-like nails with a small knife looked up.

"So?" She grunted.

Lys looked down at Suld, the hint of a crooked smile on her thin lips.

"So what?"

Suld scowled, the fur around her nose wrinkling as the wagon began to sway with renewed movement.

"Don't be cute. What was the hold up?"

"A fallen tree; too big to be moved without tools," Lys answered. "I believe we are to camp by a place just off the road, by the name of Cilant Lis."

Lys felt a stab of fear from the woman sitting opposite to her in the wagon.

"No good comes from those ruins," the woman muttered to her husband beside her. "If not the Glanfathan savages, it's the soulstorms." The man patted her hand reassuringly but his thoughts were as grim as his expression.

The convoy arrived in a small clearing just off the main road. The caravans were parked at the edges and a crackling bonfire was lit in the centre for the warmth and protection of the travellers, who outstretched their bedrolls within its glow. Cilant Lis was revealed to be ancient ruins, the form of which towered over their campsite. Though it had initially been shrouded by the thick night, the fire's glow now cast a dancing warmth over the grand construction. An open arch was carved into the hillside leading into the inky blackness of a cavern. The outside was intricately detailed with ornate stone murals, weathered by the elements and splotched by moss. Lys' eyes came to rest on the green and semi-translucent giant gems that jutted from the soil at the base of the ruins. These were natural pillars of adra, a common gemstone of Eora that ran deep down underground like veins of the earth. Despite its abundance adra was strikingly beautiful, like opaline glass of emerald hue. The characteristic Lys found most fascinating was the gem's ability to grow, albeit slowly and only in nature. Scholars had come to consider it closer to coral than rock. The adra pillars before Lys were grand, but not the largest she'd seen. What set these one apart was the copper metal wire that had been lovingly set into the stone in beautiful patterns. She stood for some time, gazing at the adra in silent contemplation, admiring how the light seemed to flicker inside the stone itself. However, Odema's booming voice soon usurped her attention.

"Listen up," he commanded and a hush fell over the campsite. "Everyone stays close to the wagons. Stay out of the woods and beasts take you if you go any closer to the ruins. These parts are crawling with hut-dwelling types; Glanfathans, and they'd be happy to stick an axe into you for trespassing over their sacred blazing rocks. Tonight everyone stays put and, Gods willing, we'll wake at first light." He paused, scratching his bushy red moustache. He deliberated on saying more, on mentioning another danger, but after a moment he merely waved his hand, dismissing the travellers to their bedrolls. Unknown to him Lys' power revealed to her what he'd hesitated to say and it was a word she recognised; soulstorm.


	3. Chapter 3: No Blood to the Meat

Lys reclined on her poorly patched bedroll, her back propped against her travelling pack as she focused on her book, the words of which were bathed in the soft light of a lantern borrowed from a wagon. A piece of dried meat wobbled between her teeth as she chewed it with an absent mind. The other travellers milled within the campsite, a nervous energy swirling among their forms. Suld, who'd disappeared to relieve herself, now reappeared from the shadows and dipped into a squat by Lys.

"I can't stand these rations, it's all dried; there's no blood to the meat. I don't know how you can stand it," she hissed. "I'm going to hunt my own supper."

Lys raised her eyes from the book and cocked a brow.

"Odema seems certain the area is too dangerous to wander."

"You think there is anything in the woods more dangerous than me?" Suld retorted, her upper lip jerking into a prideful sneer. Lys doubted it. Suld beckoned for Lys to follow and she obliged, sliding the book under her pack before reaching for her bow and lantern.

"Leave the lantern," Suld snapped. "I don't have the patience to deal with their shit if they see us leaving." Lys bowed her head and left the lantern by her bedroll. The two slipped behind a wagon and left the campsite without impediment, the campfire's warm glow fading with their every step. They walked in silence, guided through the dark by Suld's feline-like night vision, until they reached a small rivulet near the tree-line of the woods where it was safe to talk without being overheard.

"Lend me your bow," Suld said shortly, expectant hand outstretched and Lys placed the wooden bow frame and string into the orlan's hand. As Suld began to assemble it Lys took a seat upon a cold rock by the water's edge and observed her companion. The bow was not much smaller than Suld but she affixed the bowstring with ease, the powerful muscles beneath her thick fur undoubtedly flexing. She took a number of arrows from the Quiver on Suld's hip and slid them under her belt before pausing.

"I'll be home before the morn. I doubt those willowy lot could lift their own twigs, let alone that fallen tree."

Lys' thin lips curled.

"Talking about twigs, don't think I haven't see you making eyes at the trader who set out with us from Aedyr. It's your last night to show him what sort of fun us rough folk can get up to here in the wild," Suld continued, her yellow eyes flashing with mirth. Lys' smiled widened, exposing her teeth. She couldn't deny she liked the trader. He was soft and slender with an ambitious yet honest mind. He had come all this way, leaving his rich mercantile family, to prove himself in new lands and his youth had given him a confidence which Lys found endearing

"Heodan finds little attraction in me," Lys replied, with a casual shrug.

"Is it because you look like you're one knock away from passing through death's door, or because he's a true Aedyran who'd rather spend the night fucking his purse?" Suld cackled at her own joke. "That's one thing to be said about home; at least in Aedyr we knew where to get a good fuck."

Lys tilted her head in agreement but said nothing as Suld tucked the bow under her arm.

"Well, see you in the morn, little bird," Suld said, winking a cat's eye before melting into the dark of the forest. Now left alone, Lys sighed and closed her eyes, tilting her face to the sky as she let the moment envelope her senses. The air was light with the muffled sound of the campsite and the faint wisps of bonfire smoke mingled with the cool splash of water trickling and tumbling against the rivulet's rocks. From here the other traveller's souls were dulled by the distance and it was a heavy relief. In cities she could ignore the souls as they came and went, but as part of the caravan it was much harder; she'd sat with each one, felt their glimmers of joy or sadness and heard their stories. To her, it was if she'd been forced to watch a play for days on end. Still, it wasn't the first time she'd felt as such and she doubted it would be the last. As her mind turned to past memories she felt the wind begin stir, a damp coldness upon it. She stood upright to draw her cloak around her, but as she did there was a pinprick in her mind. She felt a soul; bloodthirsty, angry and righteous, so potent that it caught her off-guard. She looked towards the trees but saw nothing so she threw her spirit forward into the wild soul's mind. She saw a glimpse of his sight; a bow was before him and the sensation of a taught string flared through her fingers. Lys pulled back into herself, breath caught into her throat as the realisation hit her. The next second she threw herself to the ground as a high pitched whistle crossed her ear, followed by a heavy thunk as an arrow embedded deep into the damp earth beside her. A hot pain sear beneath her ear and across her cheek. She held her hand up to her face to feel the warm blood seep onto her fingers. The soul was moving closer now, frustrated by his failed shot. Lys looked up to see him emerge from the woods, bow drawn taught and arrow aimed at her head.


End file.
